persons whilst living, which were preserved with great veneration after their decease. In this country, according to Sir Henry Chauncy, "Any person may erect a tomb, sepulchre, or monument for the deceased in any church, chancel, chapel, or churchyard, so that it is not to the hindrance of the celebration of divine service; that the defacing of them is punishable at common law, the party that built it being entitled to the action during his life, and the heir of the deceased after his death."

Boxhornius has made a well chosen collection of Latin epitaphs, and F. Labbe has also made a similar one in the French language, entitled, "Tresor des Epitaphes." In our own language the collection of Toldewy is the best; there are also several to be found among the writings of Camden and Weaver, and in most of the county histories.

In epitaphs, the deceased person is sometimes introduced by way of prosopopaeia, speaking to the living, of which the following is an instance, wherein the defunct wife thus addresses her surviving husband:—

The following epitaphs, out of several others, are worth preserving. That of Alexander:—

That of Tasso:—

Similar to which is that of Dryden:—

The following is that of General Foy, in Pere la Chaise:—

The following is said to have been written by "rare Ben Jonson," and has been much admired:—

To these could be added several others, but at present we shall content ourselves with quoting the two following, as specimens of the satirical or ludicrous:—

Prior, on himself, ridiculing the folly of those who value themselves on their pedigree.

"Nobles and heralds, by your leave, Here lie the bones of Matthew Prior, The son of Adam and Eve, Let Bourbon or Nassau go higher."

B. T. S.

The following inscription, in a churchyard in Germany, long puzzled alike the learned and the unlearned:—

By accident the meaning was discovered, and the solution is equally remarkable for its ingenuity and for the morality it inculcates:—"O superbe quid superbis? tua superbia te superabit. Terra es, et in terram ibis. Mox eris quod ego nunc."—"O vain man! why shouldst thou be proud? thy pride will be thy ruin. Dust thou art, and to dust shalt thou return. Soon shalt thou be what I am now."

W. G. C.

THE COSMOPOLITE.

WET WEATHER.

(For the Mirror.)

"John's temper depended very much upon the air; his spirits rose and fell with the weather-glass."—ARBUTHNOT.

No one can deny that the above is a floating topic; and we challenge all the philosophy of ancients or moderns to prove it is not. After the memorable July 15, (St. Swithin,) people talk of the result with as much certainty as a merchant calculates on trade winds; and in like manner, hackney-coachmen and umbrella-makers have their trade rains. Indeed, there are, as Shakespeare's contented Duke says, "books in the running brooks, and good in every thing;"² and so far from neglecting to turn the ill-wind to our account, we are disposed to venture a few seasonable truisms for the gratification of our readers, although a wag may say our subject is a dry one.

In England, the weather is public news. Zimmerman, however, thinks it is not a safe topic of discourse. "Your company," says he, "may be hippish." Shenstone, too, says a fine day is the only enjoyment which one man does not envy another. All this is whimsical enough; but doubtless we are more operated on by the weather than by any thing else. Perhaps this is because we are islanders; for talk to an "intellectual" man about the climate, and out comes something about our "insular situation, aqueous vapours, condensation," &c. Then take up a newspaper on any day of a wet summer, and you see a long string of paragraphs, with erudite authorities, about "the weather," average annual depth of rain, &c.; and a score of lies about tremendous rains, whose only authority, like that of most miracles, is in their antiquity or repetition. In short, water is one of the most popular subjects in this age of inquiry. What were the first treatises of the Useful Knowledge Society? Hydrostatics and Hydraulics. What is the attraction at Sadler's Wells, Bath, and Cheltenham, but water? the Brighton people, too, not content with the sea, have even found it necessary to superadd to their fashionable follies, artificial mineral waters, with whose fount the grossest duchess may in a few days recover from the repletion of a whole season; and the minister, after the jading of a session, soon resume his wonted complacency and good humour.³ Our aquatic taste is even carried into all our public amusements; would the festivities in celebration of the late peace have been complete without the sham fight on the Serpentine? To insure the run of a melo-drama, the New River is called in to flow over deal boards, and form a cataract; and the Vauxhall proprietors, with the aid of a hydropyric exhibition, contrive to represent a naval battle. This introduction during the past season was, however, as perfectly gratuitous as that of the rain was uncalled for. Had they contented themselves with the latter, the scene would have been more true to nature.

We carry this taste into our money-getting speculations, those freaks of the funds that leave many a man with one unfunded coat. The Thames tunnel is too amphibious an affair to be included in the number; but the ship canal project, the bridge-building mania, and the penchant for working mines by steam, evidently belong to them. The fashion even extends to